


Blame It On The Weather

by MohawkNightFury



Category: There is no fandom - Fandom
Genre: Emotional, Other, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-10-05 03:31:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10296506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MohawkNightFury/pseuds/MohawkNightFury
Summary: Interpret as you will.*Note* The author has dealt with depression and self-hate and is still dealing with both.





	

I feel different.  
I’m not the same person I was before.  
My mind is a different place with a different shore.  
And I’m washed up on the beach,  
Of a land so unfamiliar.  
This uncharted territory of my mind I must endure,  
But I blame it on the weather.

I feel different.  
My dreams are a forest of body-horrors,  
They leave me awake, in a sweat, I am not theirs.  
And they are not me.  
But all I can see…  
Is my familiar face staring back  
Like I’m looking at a photograph  
Of a time long passed  
When I always thought of myself as ugly,  
But what do I see?  
That shit stains the deepest parts of me.  
But I blame it on the weather.

I feel different.  
Like an alien in my own body,  
I’m trying to breathe  
But trying to breathe  
Isn’t actually breathing,  
It’s thinking about the action that I’m not receiving.  
It’s an out of body experience,  
Where I’m watching myself gasp desperate  
For the air of self-love and self-confidence,  
But I’m trapped in a loop of a lack of self,  
And a lack of self  
And a lack of will  
Leaves a lack of self that cannot will  
Myself to breathe this air I need  
To continue a life worth living  
If I could only kick myself into giving a shit  
About how I feel every once in a while…  
But still…  
I blame it on the weather.

Most days, the forecast is cloudy,  
It leaves me feeling clowny  
‘Cause all I can do is laugh at myself  
And wish the best of myself,  
But I never do.  
I spend most of my time hoping,  
But never doing.  
An imaginary call to action,  
That electric neural reaction  
To my self-guided situation,  
Of which I can never find elation.  
Cause I spend most of my time locked up in my bedroom.  
No one can ever get through to me  
In my bedroom,  
I keep my self under lock and key,  
In my bedroom,  
In here I can always feel safe  
In my bedroom,  
But I can’t get better if I don’t  
Leave my bedroom,  
And it’s true and I know it.  
And I’m actively denying it.  
From a heart that hurts,  
And a mind that’s about to burst,  
Everything is so loud it hurts,  
But I keep quiet….  
Hoping that the silence is loud enough,  
To get through to the part of me that is tough.  
But I’d rather just blame it on the weather.


End file.
